


Late Risers

by literal_trashbaby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, here to give you guys diabeetus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:38:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literal_trashbaby/pseuds/literal_trashbaby
Summary: Tsukki absolutely had an excuse for still being asleep after the hour hit double-digits this morning, Yamaguchi had to allow that much. He wondered vaguely if it counted as a win, his waking up first thanks to… extenuating circumstances.Well, a win is a win, right? And a win deserves some kind of commemoration, does it not? OR:for once in his life, Yamaguchi Tadashi has awoken before Tsukki. this is an Event.





	

            Yamaguchi woke and sighed pleasantly in the late morning light, stretching deliciously to ease the last of the sleepiness from his limbs before sitting up. A grumble to his right and a shift of weight across his midriff brought his attention to the body that surely had not been there when he went to sleep last night: Tsukki lay next to him, facedown and half-buried in pillows, glasses charmingly askew as the morning light lit in his impossibly blond-beyond-blond hair. One arm was slung haphazardly across Yamaguchi’s stomach, palm just barely grazing Yamaguchi’s freckled hip. Tadashi eased the glasses carefully off his boyfriend’s face, marveling at the rare sight that was a sleeping Tsukki- his relaxed face, those spectacularly pale (and unexpectedly long) lashes pressed against his high cheekbones. Simply glorious. Yamaguchi couldn’t help but dust his fingertips across Tsukki’s cheek in wonder; it was so rare that he get to see Tsukki so dead to the world. It wasn’t necessarily that Tsukki was an early riser, so much as that Yamaguchi was a _notoriously late_ one- always had been. Tsukki would never let him live down the sheer number of times he had woken Yamaguchi for morning practices, classes, and those godforsaken training camps throughout their high school years.

            And yet, here they were, Yamaguchi awake, Tsukki decidedly not. As Yamaguchi folded the specs and placed them delicately on the side table he recalled the events of the night before, how Tsukki had stubbornly stayed up, ignoring Yamaguchi’s pleading, to finish composing an essay (despite having the whole weekend to do it), and the vaguest recollection of a body collapsing unceremoniously into bed next to Yamaguchi’s at approximately ass-o’-clock.

            So Tsukki absolutely had an excuse for still being asleep after the hour hit double-digits this morning, Yamaguchi had to allow that much. He wondered vaguely if it counted as a win, his waking up first thanks to… extenuating circumstances. He gently toyed with Tsukki’s hair as he contemplated and grinned fondly to himself when Tsukki unconsciously tipped his head into Yamaguchi’s palm and pressed his face into his pillow, sighing contentedly in his sleep. Well, a win is a win, right? And a win deserves some kind of commemoration, does it not? Yamaguchi grinned wider and carefully slid from under Tsukki’s outstretched arm, padding from the room with purpose.

~*~

 

            Tsukishima grumbled to wakefulness in the late ( _late_ ) morning light (closer to noon, if he were to guess), his arm flung out to the uncomfortably empty side of the bed. He blinked with a bleary scowl, belatedly figuring out why he couldn’t see _shit_ and pawing around until he found his glasses. As the world slid into focus, several things registered: the bed felt hollow because Tadashi wasn’t in it, meaning it was late enough for him to have woken up on his own, and wasn’t there someone in the kitchen? He sucked in a breath and held it a beat, steeling himself, releasing it in a groan before pushing himself off his stomach and hauling his exhausted ass out of bed.

            As he shuffled his way in socked feet down the hall of their shared apartment, tugging a sweatshirt over his head (it was a little ridiculous how easily he got cold, he would never understand how it was possible for Tadashi to be a furnace no matter the season), it became increasingly obvious that there was indeed someone in the kitchen, and he swore he caught snippets of singing.

            This was confirmed when he peeked around the kitchen doorway and stopped dead.

            There was Tadashi, still in his pajama pants slung low on his hips and literally nothing else, back to the door so Tsukishima could see every freckle dusted across his shoulders and littered down his spine (thinning in density towards his waist with a sudden splash at his hips- he had the pattern memorized), oblivious to his audience as he _sang_ and _danced_ in front of the oven, hovering over a sizzling pan.

            Lord in Heaven, save Tsukishima from Yamaguchi Tadashi’s _abysmal_ taste in music. He was a fine singer (better than fine, if Tsukishima was being straightforward), but this song was clearly marketed at twelve-year-old girls- it was catchy, sure, but also _relentlessly pop-y_ in a way that, had it been any other singer, would have set Tsukishima’s teeth on edge.

            But it was Tadashi singing it, Tadashi using the spatula as a mic in between flipping scraps of bacon, Tadashi sliding to the fridge, both arms and a leg outstretched dramatically, to grab the milk and hook the door shut with his toe, Tadashi swishing and _bouncing_ his hips in time to his music, Tadashi ladling out batter to make his patented super-size pancakes (which were Tsukishima’s favorite- mostly because it was Tadashi making them).

            It was Tadashi, who would _only_ ever leave Tsukishima in an empty bed in order to make his favorite breakfast for him after a long night. Tadashi, who would no doubt try to rub Tsukishima’s face in it for having woken up after him despite literal _years_ of being woken by Tsukishima _daily_ for every single reason under the sun, (Tadashi, the only person on God’s green earth who Tsukishima would ever be willing to wake up every day from when they were children and until the day they died,) Tadashi, who was somehow simultaneously the sassiest little turd when he thought he could get away with it (which, with Tsukishima, was _always_ ) and yet sweet and kind in a way Tsukishima thought humanity as a whole might never deserve or live up to.

            It was Tadashi, always Tadashi.

            In that moment, as he watched his boyfriend bopping around their kitchen in his pjs, singing and dancing in the golden light, Tsukishima realized two things:

            One, that underneath his playful sass, his gentle teasing, and his shiteating grin, Yamaguchi Tadashi is all that is pure and light in this world.

            Two, that he, Tsukishima Kei, was in too deep.

            His heart stuttered as Tadashi did a little shimmy during a long note, arms lifting over his head, and Tsukishima had to turn and walk back the way he came lest his heart just burst right out of his chest, covering his blush with a palm and mumbling to himself just how _screwed_ he was.

            Tsukishima Kei was in way, _way_ too deep.

**Author's Note:**

> *writes fluff instead of doing Finals stuff because i am a disaster*


End file.
